“Everything okay?” asked Sister Patience’s fellow nun, Sister Justice. It was hard to tell with the wimple, but Zada guessed they were a similar age to Sister Patience. They had medium-brown skin and a habit of bobbing their head as they spoke, with such vigor that Zada feared for their glasses, which looked to be made from real glass. “I’ve never seen anyone frown so hard at cheese before.”
Zada gestured at the kit before her, almost overflowing with soft goat cheese, fresh hydroponic-grown greens, a very tasty-looking jar of gooseberry jam, and roasted chestnuts.
“How long will this food really stay safe to eat?” she said. “I’m sure the people outside the city would appreciate anything, but these greens will be wilted by tomorrow.”
“Oh,” said Sister Justice. “We’re distributing these today, within the dome. It’s a thank-you for talking with us.”
“It’s simple,” said Sister Patience. “If you keep busting into people’s homes empty-handed and shoving a recorder in their faces, they’re going to smell the self-interest on you, like a cabbage fart on the wind.”
Sister Justice chuckled. “Sheer poetry, Pat.”
When the boxes were all packed up, Zada and Daphne helped carry them out to a weathered-looking suncart parked in front of the community center.
“You’re lucky today’s a light day,” said Sister Justice. With surprising agility, they swung into the passenger seat after Sister Patience. “Plenty of room for you. Otherwise we’d make you sit on the roof.”
Daphne clambered onto the back of the suncart. Zada followed, wedging herself in beside a stack of boxes that were barely tied down. Her shoulder pressed against Daphne’s,and as the suncart took off with a jerk, Zada was glad of the company.
Sister Patience drove like she was being chased.
“Is this safe?” Zada asked as they narrowly avoided clipping a horse, which beeped in warning.
“No fatalities yet!” Sister Patience called back to them.
The cart jolted forward again, weaving back and forth on the busy street. Passengers peered out of the windows of their hyper-carriages. These faces blurred by as Sister Patience stepped on the accelerator.
“The guards—” Zada yelped.
The sisters just laughed. Sister Patience skirted a horse, zipping directly into the oncoming lane for one heart-stopping moment, and then shot blessedly back into the flow of traffic.
Several harrowing minutes later, they slammed to a stop in front of row of family units. Zada and Daphne staggered off the suncart, clutching each other for balance.
“So,” said Daphne conversationally, “I’m guessing the guards don’t bother stopping you?”
“Can’t keep us from speeding if they don’t catch us,” said Sister Justice, tapping their nose.
“What do you mean?” said Sister Patience, wide-eyed. “I drove slow today, just for our guests.”
“I’d hate to see what fast looks like to you,” Daphne muttered.
“Oh, it’s fascinating to watch.” Sister Justice laughed. “From safely outside the cart.”
“And who exactly was yelling at me to ‘speed up, Pat, don’t let that gold-leaf carriage beat us’ just last week?” Sister Patience said teasingly.
Zada and Daphne followed the sisters through a gate that had been propped open.
A woman who introduced herself as Hortense was waiting for them in the small, scraggly courtyard. A small child clung to the woman’s skirt, staring up at the newcomers and systematically shoving a chocolate nutrient bar into his mouth, leaving huge smears on either side.
The family unit smelled like cleaning agent and was a little smaller than Zada’s own home. It was dimly lit inside and was in the state of untidy chaos that Zada associated with childcare.
“Thank you again for having us,” said Sister Justice. She nodded at Daphne to hand over the box, which Hortense accepted with a polite smile, setting it onto a very cluttered countertop.
“So,” said Hortense, “how does this work, exactly?”
“We’ll ask you some questions,” said Sister Patience. “Feel free to answer them with as much detail as you’re comfortable with. If there’s anything you’d rather we skip, just let us know. For now, just make yourself comfortable as we calibrate the recorder.”
“Right.” Hortense glanced from the two sisters in their kelly-green robes to Zada and Daphne. “And, sorry, who are they?”
No response from Daphne, who had dropped to a crouch and was trying to make eye contact with the four-year-old.
